


suffering intertwined

by nasaofficial



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic, That's it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-09 23:11:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17414330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasaofficial/pseuds/nasaofficial
Summary: sickfic. steve worries. bucky's sick. all is resolved.





	suffering intertwined

**Author's Note:**

> title is from passenger by hippo campus and very much a joke because someone let me think i'm funny? Yikes
> 
> anyways i haven't written non-academically in over a year and this is my attempt at getting back into the swing of things while simultaneously reducing any leftover pain i still have from infinity war :-)
> 
> thank u for reading, hope u enjoy!

Realistically, it's no big deal. Right? There's a reasonable explanation behind Bucky ignoring every single one of Steve's texts. And in date night, of all nights. They hadn't seen each other in a few days and... well, Steve hadn't done anything to make it so Bucky didn't want to talk to him. Well, he didn't think as much. So, back to being reasonable. There had to be a logical explanation behind Bucky's silence.

Steve had sent seven texts within an hour. He didn't want to be pushy. It was date night, Bucky might have been running late. Maybe he was stuck in traffic. Or left his apartment too late. Or spent too much time doing his hair. All logical, reasonable explanations. Steve was understanding.

After that hour, Steve had decided to go to Bucky's apartment. He figured it was justified--he was concerned about his boyfriend not showing up. Last they saw each other they were good terms, and the last time they spoke, even if it was just over text, they were on good terms. If anything, he was being a good boyfriend by checking up on Bucky. 

Knocking on the door a few times proved to be futile. Steve sent a few more texts to Bucky explaining his current situation of standing outside his door to make sure he was okay. No response. Which, okay. Yeah. That was fine.

Steve really didn't want to seem pushy or overprotective. Calling or texting one of their friends? A last resort. Steve wasn't that desperate--well, not yet anyway. He was content to try to get ahold of Bucky. The man in question didn't keep a spare key for anyone; paranoia was one of his biggest faults, but that was okay. Steve could pick a lock if need be, but he really didn't want to. That would cross the line. He decided to go for a voicemail instead:

“Hey, Buck, it's uh, Steve, if you couldn't tell. Um, yeah. I was calling because it's date night, we were supposed to go see that new movie, and you aren't, um, answering my texts. So I'm outside your apartment currently, and you're not answering that either. … Which is totally okay! I just…would like an explanation if I did something or like, to know you're okay. Yeah. Uh, hopefully see you later. Okay, bye.”

Steve hung up, feeling completely out of his element. He hated phone calls, voice messages, anything over the phone. They just weren't a proper example of his actual social skills. 

Anyway, back to checking up on Bucky. There wasn't much else Steve could do beside wait for response. He'll try calling again in a few hours. 

Heading home, just a short drive, Steve couldn't help but worry. What if something happened? What if Bucky was hurt? Would anyone know to contact him? Their relationship wasn't that new but still, the thought persists. Maybe he's in the hospital and anyone visiting just forgot Steve is his boyfriend. Maybe Bucky's breaking up with him by cutting off all contact and making sure--Nope.

Bucky wouldn't do that. He's actually good at communication.

When he arrives home, Steve tries everything to get his mind off things. He watches a movie, he reads for a little bit, he even tries to make a cake. He made sure to set his phone with the ringer on, so any time it chimes, he jumps and definitely doesn't run to it like a stereotypical teenage girl. What can he say? He's a worrier.

All his efforts prove to be of no help. He tries calling Bucky again, this time without leaving a voicemail. Maybe Bucky needs time. With what, Steve has no idea. Sometimes people just need space.

Steve gets ready for bed. Date night was supposed to start at seven, and all of his worrying and actions have taken up four hours of his time. It's past eleven. Hey, you know how the saying goes: time flies when you're on the verge of a panic attack because someone won't respond. It's always fun.

Eventually, he falls asleep. Or maybe he passes out from anxiety. You never really can tell. The next thing Steve does is wake up because his phone is going off. Looking at the Caller ID, slightly blinded by the light, Steve notices it's Bucky and immediately shifts so he's sitting up.

“Hello?” he answers, voice groggy with sleep.

“Uh, hi, Steve.”

“Hey, Buck, what's up?” Steve steals a glance at the time--nearly two in the morning. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I… listen, sorry about missing all your calls and texts and you know, our date. I'm really fucking sick and when I got off work I came home and then passed out. Was dead to the world until just a few minutes ago, actually,” Bucky responds. He pulls the phone away from his face to sniffle.

“Oh, baby, that's okay. I was just worried and I...yeah. Sorry if it was weird. I just got all concerned and stuff and you know, jumping to conclusions and stuff.” Steve can't help but feel relieved when he realizes that it's just sickness. Nothing that causes permanent harm to Bucky.

“Yeah, no, I'm okay. The, uh, texts and calls were actually really cute,” Bucky says, yawning into the phone. “Sorry.”

“You're all good.” Steve smiles at the nervousness in Bucky's voice.

There's a pause in the conversation, the two of them content to bask in each other's silences, even if it is over the phone. 

“I, um. Was wondering if you could come over? Maybe? If you want? I mean, I'm sick and stuff but I just… wanted to make up for um, tonight.”

“Yeah! Yeah, I would love to,” Steve gets out of bed, almost tripping over the shoes he left half tucked under his bed. “Do you need anything?”

“Um, no, I just wanted to see you.” Bucky murmurs, and Steve sleepily grins. 

“You're cute.” -- “That's gay.” -- “We're in a relationship, Buck. I'll be there in about fifteen, that okay?”

“Yeah, of course, see you then.”

*

Steve knocks on Bucky's apartment door, dressed in sweatpants and a thin t-shirt, complete with tennis shoes he finds comfortable. He looks like he could be dressed for a run, but no, he's here to cuddle his sick boyfriend.

The door opens and reveals Bucky in similar attire, though less put together and more rumpled in a sleep-cute kind of way. When he meets Bucky's eyes, Steve realizes just how sick he is. He looks dead tired, hair greasy and skin pale. 

“Oh, baby,” Steve says, stepping forward to gather Bucky in his arms. “You look so sick.”

Bucky snorts at his choice of words, and mutters, “Sick. Like cool. Hah.” He practically falls into Steve's arms, willing to let him carry his weight. 

“You're always cool,” Steve says, kissing his forehead.

“Gross,” Bucky scrunches his nose, “you'll get sick.”

“That's okay, I just wanna hold you.”

Bucky disentangles himself from Steve's arms, grabbing his hand and leads him to the couch. Before they make it too far, Steve stops him to lock the front door. 

Once they reach the couch, Steve sits and Bucky sits next to him, situating themselves so Bucky is leaning almost entirely on Steve. 

Steve takes a deep breath. “You know, I was really worried.”

“Yeah, I'm sorry, Steve. I just, didn't even think of telling you after work and I forgot about date night and I don't know… I'm sorry.” Bucky sniffles again. He talks a little slower than usual, his tiredness affecting even the littlest of details.

“No, that's okay. I get it. I just, I immediately thought something terrible happened. Not like this isn't terrible, but it's a better situation in comparison to something my mind jumped to, you know?” Steve rubs circles into Bucky's back, trying his best at comfort. Bucky settles further into Steve.

“Yeah, babe, I get it,” he says, kissing Steve's chest. He feels his eyes growing heavy. “I'm just gonna, sleep… right here. For a little bit. Um, feel free to…” He trails off, lifting his hand to wave lazily in the direction of the TV. Steve smiles, endeared, and subtly leans forward to grab the remote. Turning down the volume and the subtitles on, he finds a show worthwhile and settles.

Initially, Bucky's head had been on Steve's shoulder, but as he unconsciously made an effort to be more comfortable, his head ended up on Steve's chest. In doing so, his hair became messed up. Steve ran his fingers through the front of it, keeping it from sticking to Bucky's forehead. It was a fond act that Steve wished he could tuck away in his memory forever.

After a short while, Steve drifted off, content with the knowledge that his boyfriend didn't hate him, he was just sick and not exactly able to function properly.

Roughly an hour later, Steve woke up to Bucky shifting off him.

“Hey, hey,” Steve whispered, adjusting his hands to essentially hold Bucky up, “you good?”

“No, I--” Bucky started, but cut himself off in favor of pressing the heels of his hand into his eyes. “I have a killer headache. Feels like the start to a migraine.”

Steve kissed Bucky's forehead. “Do you have any painkillers?”

“Yeah, they're in the cupboard next to the microwave,” Bucky replied. His hands remained pressed into eyes, so Steve grabbed one and kissed the palm of it. When he removed it from Bucky's face, Steve saw his face scrunched in pain and immediately felt his heart swell with empathy.

“I'll grab some.” Steve got up, walked into the kitchen. When he turned on the light, he squinted from the brightness and heard a slight gasp of pain from Bucky and regretted it. He opened the bottle of painkillers and poured some out onto his hand, then grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water, all as quickly as possible so he could turn the light off.

“Here,” Steve said when he reached Bucky again. He pressed the pills into Bucky's hand, handing him the glass once they were in his mouth. “Do you wanna go to bed?”

Bucky swallowed. “I--Yeah, probably should. God, even talking hurts. Um, yeah, let's just not turn on any lights.”

“Okay, yeah.” Steve got up and once Bucky did, he swayed a little. Steve reached out to steady him, murmuring, “Easy, baby.”

They walked to the bedroom, Bucky blindly feeling for the doorknob. Remembering he was still wearing his shoes, Steve toed his off outside the door and followed Bucky inside, who was gripping his hand.

Once inside, Bucky dug himself under the covers, wanting to sleep for an approximate seventy years. Steve mimicked him, chuckling fondly at how adorable his boyfriend can be. 

“Cold,” Bucky muttered under his breath, scooting toward Steve. Curling himself around Steve, he felt himself warm up relatively quickly. “Like a fuckin’ furnace.”

“Shh, baby, you said it hurts to talk so you shouldn't,” Steve says, realizing a moment too late how rude that could sound, but reassured himself with the knowledge that Bucky knows he only has the best of intentions.

Bucky hums. “Thank you. For coming over and letting me sleep on you. You're the best. Love you.”

Sure, Bucky realized the weight of his words, but he was too sick to give a shit whether it was too early or not the right time or whatever. He knew what he and Steve had was good, more than that, and that they would be able to work through just about anything.

Steve's eyes only widened just a bit. “Love you too, Buck,” he says, a smile growing on his face. He looks down at Bucky, who's curled around him and looking relaxed, and knows it's true.


End file.
